Phantom of the Opera II: And The Phantomess
by The-Little-Oh
Summary: The Phantom protects a young woman running from the police. After Christine left, his cruel and dark sense of humor increased, and his obsessive, passionate emotions have come to balance with it more. But he's also less quick to fall in love, if he does
1. Default Chapter

What had she been thinking? She could've chosen anywhere, absolutely anywhere to hide, but she had chosen the Opera House. How she'd managed to slip in, she'd never know, but she had, and now she was lost. Lost in the basements of the Paris Opera House. She had no doubt that she was safe from the police, but she was unsure that she'd ever find her way out.

Stumbling in the dark, she wandered for hours. In her earlier desperation to get as far from the police as she could, she had gone down as far as she could. Now she could find no way back up.

After what seemed like an eternity, she stopped and rested against a wall, shutting her eyes and calming her shaky breath. She rubbed her cold arms with her hands to warm them. In a matter of minutes, she had slid down to the floor and fallen asleep.

•

She woke up on a small sofa in a poorly lit room. How had she gotten here? She sat up and immediately spotted a man with his back to her. He wore a black shirt and pants, and there was a black cloak draped across one shoulder. A whisper dared to venture from her lips.

"Monsieur?"

His turned around. A white mask covered all but the lower portion of his face. He strode over to her, gripped her wrists, and thrust her into a chair. "What were you doing in the Opera House basements?" he demanded.

Still recovering from the sudden shock of being flung harshly into an armchair and questioned like a common criminal, she hugged herself protectively.

The man sighed and sank back onto the sofa. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle, for acting so harshly. You have happened too close to my abode, and I am quite protective of my privacy."

She nodded, wondering why then it was he had brought her here.

"Now then, Mademoiselle, what were you doing in the depths of the Paris Opera House?"

"I was running away and got lost-"

"What were you running from?"

She realized now how foolish she had been to answer so quickly and so honestly. How could she tell him what she was? He was her only hope for getting out of wherever she was now. There was no telling what he would do if he knew the real reason for her running so franticly away from the police to end up lost in the Opera House basements. He couldn't know what she really was. She averted her eyes from his face, but could still feel his gaze upon her.

He didn't need her answer to tell him who and what she was. She wore a necklace with a small, circular charm dangling from it. An even smaller diamond-shaped jewel was set in the center of the miniature gold disc.

Prostitutes, though honorable citizens and government officials tried to hide it, were common on the streets of Paris. So desperate was the government to make this city perfect, they had outlawed it. This was a law that, for the most part, was kept just as secret as those who broke it. Those who were aware of the existence of the law would realize the need for the law, and it would become common knowledge that Paris was, indeed, not so perfect.

Still, the way the young woman before him held onto herself, how she had hugged herself protectively in her sleep, and her poorly hidden modesty told him that she did it for the money, not pleasure.

He still wanted to hear it for himself.

"Answer me, Mademoiselle."

She looked back at him and sighed. "The police."

The man smirked. "And why were the police chasing you?"

She looked away again, and he decided she'd been tortured enough, so he continued talking without getting an answer and stood up.

"Others who wonder so close to my abode-"

He lived under the Opera House?

"-often die within the hour I find them."

Her breath caught in her chest.

"But I think that, in this case, a different solution can be found."

She allowed herself to breathe again, when he whirled and leaned over her, one hand on each arm of the chair, trapping her.

"I know who you are and why you were running from the police. You're a prostitute, a whore, a woman of the street," he hissed, grabbing the charm on her necklace and tugging on it lightly.

She pressed herself as far against the back of the chair as she could. "Please, sir, surely the other solution…? It isn't, I hope…?" She shut her eyes against tears. How could she have let herself be convinced to take up that necklace, the mark of a prostitute? It had been necessary for survival, but it was demanded of her too much, and she was sure that one day it would be her death. Tears were stinging her eyes when the man spoke again, softer now.

"No. Such an innocent soul should not be forced to thrive upon such horrors," he said, dropping the chain around her neck and taking her chin his hand to gently turn her face towards him. He smiled softly. "I realize it is only for your very survival that you've taken on such a role. I have been lonely here for too long. I am about to make an offer. Stay here with me and respect me, and you may stay here, in the Opera House."

She scanned him. "Why?" she inquired, somewhat suspicious.

He chuckled softly and stood up. "As I said, I have been too lonely here for too long, living here underground. You are looking for an escape from the nightmare you've turned your life into. I believe we can both benefit from this arrangement."

Her eyes searched his partially masked face, looking for a catch. She was sure there was more to it, there had to be, but she was not about to turn down a way out of the rut she'd fallen into without considering it first. She took a deep breath. "Who exactly are you?"

Sweeping his cloak back, he bent at the waist into a deep bow and straightened quickly.

"The Phantom of the Opera, at your service. But, please, Erik will suffice. There is no surname, I named myself. And you are…?"

"Desiree."

"No surname for you?"

"At one point, surely, but not now. It is better for… my type to not mention any affiliation with anyone else."

"Very well. What do you think of my offer?"

Desiree, as her name had now been mad known, hesitated. "I'm not sure. I need some time to think about it."

"Again, very well," said Erik, nodding once. "There is a room where you can stay. Why don't you sleep on it and decide in the morning?"

She nodded and stood up slowly, then followed him out a door, down a hallway, and stopped at a wooden door. He took a small key out from beneath his cloak, inserted it into the lock, and turned it. There was a click, and the door swung open slowly.

Erik walked around the room, lighting gas lamps that provided just enough light to see the contents of the room without lighting it particularly well.

There was a wardrobe against the wall opposite the door, and a vanity on the wall to her right. Against the wall opposite the vanity, there was a large, four-poster bed, and laying at the foot of it-

"Why is there a bed and a coffin?" Desiree inquired, staring at the empty box.

"I can have the bed removed if you like."

She jerked her head to look at him with wide, surprised eyes. "N-no… that's quite alright."

A smile played on his lips. "I thought so. I'll leave you now. You should be able to find everything you need in the wardrobe. Please consider my offer. Good night."

Before Desiree could respond, Erik had shut the door and was gone. She listened to his receding footsteps for a moment, then looked at the coffin again uneasily.

She shuddered, and, trying not to think about it, walked over to the wardrobe and opened its doors. Inside were dozens of dresses. Many were dark shades of blue or green, though there were some that were more pastel, and a few warm colors. She ran her hand along one in awe. What were these gowns doing here, in the house of a man who lived alone underground?

But he wasn't a man, she reminded herself. He was a phantom. That didn't change the fact that these dresses were completely out of place down here, but he was a phantom. A phantom? What exactly was a phantom? What was the difference between a phantom and a ghost? A ghost was dead, was a phantom, in some way, alive?

She shut the doors of the wardrobe and seated herself on the bed. Should she be scared of this 'phantom'? Was it dangerous to stay here? More dangerous than returning to her past lifestyle? She looked over at the empty coffin. It threatened her for some reason.

Was living with this 'phantom' as empty a threat as that vacant coffin? Or could it really endanger her?

She leaned over to look past the edge of the bed and into the coffin. Its inside was lined with black satin, and it was rather plain. Still, she shivered.

An occupied coffin would not be any more of a threat than this empty one. Scarier, but no more of a threat. That's what this coffin was. It was frightening, but harmless. Just like this 'phantom.' Scary, but not endangering.

She laid back on the bed, not caring to change, and fell asleep weighing the dangers of staying with an unknown man claiming to be a phantom, in comparison with returning to life as she had lived it before and forgetting this whole incident.

•

By the time Desiree had fallen asleep, Erik had just started thinking. He paced back and forth in front of his organ. Many who were more familiar with his ingenuity would have thought he knew what he was doing. Unfortunately, he didn't. He had stumbled, literally, upon her on his way to tonight's Opera. At first he had though she was dead, but upon further inspection, he had determined that she was breathing. He wasn't one for killing a sleeping person, but he didn't want to leave her there either. So he had taken her back to his house. Now he wondered what he had been thinking. What _had _he been thinking? He was furious with himself now for being so hospitable, so pitying. And then he had invited her to stay! It was true, he was lonely, but what had gotten to him so much that he had invited a complete stranger to stay with him in his house?

As angry as he was with himself, he could not deny that he wanted her to stay there. He had recognized right off, even with the instability of her voice, that it was beautiful. Not so much as Christine's, but still quite magnificent. The voice was not the only beauty in this young woman. She herself was quite attractive. Her long, dark brown hair fell halfway down her back and curled in some places to just such a degree that her hair was not straight and not curly, but a happy medium. She had hazel eyes that had looked green in a certain light, as he had noticed when he had flung her into the chair earlier. Her skin was fair, and the shape of her face and her eyes complimented each other nicely.

But he had changed since Christine was there. He had been passionately in love with Christine before, a desperate man. He had also been deeply involved with his music at the time. He still composed a lot, but not as much as when Christine was here. Now that she was gone, he was constantly haunting the Opera House. He had gotten tired of playing dead, and was restless. He had needed to get rid of the pent-up energy and mischief. He had developed a more cruel sense of humor. He still had his passion and his emotion, but it was more balanced now with his chaotic side. It was also better protected than it had been when Christine was here. He would not be so quick to fall in love again.

But that was not to say that he wouldn't fall in love.


	2. Phantom of the Opera II: And The Phantom...

The next morning, when Desiree awoke, she found a note stuck to the door. She felt insecure knowing that Erik had been in the room while she was asleep. She tore the paper off the nail it hung on.

Desiree,

Forgive me, I had to leave for about an hour to get some things. Please help yourself to the clothes in the wardrobe; I believe they would fit you. Remember whatever you may find in the vanity is at your dispense. Feel free to leave your room. Don't go anywhere but the room in which you awoke last night. You don't have to worry about not finding your way back; it will be the only door in the hallway that's unlocked. Please do not try to force any of the doors, you'll find out what's behind many of them in good time. There is food on the table in the aforementioned room. Help yourself. We can talk upon my return.

-Erik, Phantom of the Opera

She read it on her way to the vanity and laid it down on the top of it, reading the last two lines over her shoulder on her way to the wardrobe. The dresses inside were all very extravagant, much more extravagant than she would normally feel comfortable wearing. She picked out one of the simplest, still too much for her taste, but better than the others. It was black, and left her back and shoulders bare. It did fit her, though, and for that she was thankful.

There was a pitcher of water and an empty basin on the vanity that she hadn't noticed when she'd set the note down on it. She rinsed her face and hands, wishing she'd done so before she got dressed, then dampened a brush before using it. She brushed her hair until it was fairly straight- she liked it better that way, and the wet brush did it for her.

Suddenly, she whirled around to stare at the coffin. Her eyes narrowed. She knew she was being ridiculous. Empty coffin, empty threat. Still, she kept the coffin in her sight until she'd gotten out of the room.

The hallway outside was not quite as well-lit as her room, but her eyes were adjusted to the dark by now. There was not an overabundance of doors, but enough that she didn't know just how many there were by glancing around. She didn't take the time to count them, but rather just started trying doors, gently, so as not trigger whatever occurrence would be triggered by trying to 'force' the door, until she found one that opened. She entered, shutting the door behind her.

There was breakfast food on a table by the end of one couch, as Erik's letter had said there would be. She didn't eat any of it, though. She wasn't hungry, so she just drank some water and then wandered idly through the room, observing it.

The room had, though she didn't know it, undergone a great deal of change since Christine had left, just as everything else had. There was a couch, perpendicular to the door, with a small table at the other end, and an armchair facing the door next to the table. Another couch sat across from the first, with a foot or two of space between it and the armchair. At the end of that couch that was nearest the door was the table with food. Behind the chair, but not perfectly centered, was a large, stone fireplace with a small fire in it. On the mantelpiece were two ebony boxes, but they did not open when she tried to lift the lids because they were locked. A clock sat between the two boxes, and it seemed to be working, but she did not bother to see what time it was. The walls were draped with black cloth. A tall ladder leaned against the wall to the left, and at the top of that ladder, a small, black veil. She wondered what was behind it, and so she started up the ladder.

What she saw through the window behind the veil was the product of pure ingenuity. It was a six-sided room, each wall consisting of a giant mirror, and a large, iron tree in the center of it all, with a lasso hanging from it. Horrible, but quite amazing. Each mirror reflected not only the tree, but the other reflections. The reflections reflected the reflections reflected the reflections reflected the reflections reflected the reflections. So caught up in the vastness of the eternal forest was she, that she had not heard Erik when he came in.

"And what do you think of my forest, Desiree? Amazing, isn't it?"

She started when she heard his voice and barely managed to stop herself from falling off the ladder. Her head turned to look at him over his shoulder. "What is it for?"

His lips curled up into a smile and he shook his head. "That, you need not concern yourself about. All in good time, should you accept my offer. Speaking of the potential arrangement, let's discuss it. Come down from the window and let's talk."

Desiree descended from the ladder and sat on the sofa opposite him, with the untouched food next to her.

"You didn't eat," he said, nodding at the food.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't hungry. I drank some water, but I really didn't feel much like eating."

"That's quite alright, Mademoiselle. Now, about my offer, I need an answer."

"How endangering would it be to my health to stay here?"

He smiled. "Not too endangering. I'm sure I've scared you with some comments I've made, and I'm sorry for frightening you like that, but there is no threat in staying here. Not now."

"If I turn down your offer?"

"I'll take you back up to the streets of Paris and leave you there, and you can continue living your what-you-call-a-life."

"If I stayed, would I have the choice to leave if I desired to?"

"You can always leave, Desiree, you realize I have no control over you. I would find it very difficult to stop you, if you knew the way out."

She considered this for a moment, before finally answering. "I'll stay for a time, to see if I like it. If I don't, I'll ask you to take me back to the above world, and if I do, I'll stay with you. I assume that, in staying here, I also have leave to wander throughout the Opera House."

"At certain times and in certain places, most assuredly."

She looked at him a moment. "What will I do here?"

"When you are more familiar with the layout of this house and of the Opera building, almost anything you want. But for right now, I would like to hear you sing."

She blinked. "Sing?"

He smiled again and nodded. "Yes, sing. You seem surprised."

"Just what do you expect me to sing, Monsieur?"

"Oh, Desiree, sing whatever you like."

"I can't sing, Erik. I don't know any songs and I've never sung before."

"Your voice is very beautiful. It is obvious that if you had the proper training, you could be a very good singer. Please sing something!"

"I know no songs, Erik."

The next half hour was spent teaching Desiree a song from Othello, one that Desdemona sings. She was, as Erik had predicted, very good, even with just a half hour of coaching.

After a little while, Erik fell silent for a moment and looked at her with a vacant expression. "You're very beautiful, Desiree."

This comment had been unexpected. She blinked, and he moved to sit on the sofa, next to her, playing with a lock of her hair. "That dress fits you very well."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "I wished they had not all been so extravagant. I feel very out-of-place in this."

He smiled. "I am sorry, Mademoiselle. Of course. The woman for whom those dresses were bought would have only worn them to operas, and she did that so often that it was the only kind of gown she wore. I'll get some simpler ones tomorrow."

"Oh no, Monsieur! Please, if it's an inconvenience, there's no need."

"No inconvenience, merely a courtesy. Let's run through the song again."

She sang it again, Erik humming the chords. Tomorrow he'd probably take her into his room so he could play on the organ, but this worked for now.

When they were finally done, Erik stood up. "That's enough for now. I have other things I need to do. It won't take long, but if you're bored, it's nearly noon. You slept very late. You can eat, I'll bring in fresh food. Other doors are unlocked now, you can wonder around as long as you don't move or break anything."

Desiree stood up. "I'll just stay in my room for now, maybe look around in a little bit and eat a little later. Will you be busy very long?"

"A while, I'm afraid. Perhaps we can go see an opera this evening. Faust is playing. We'll see how it goes."

The both headed towards the door, Erik slightly behind Desiree. Before she opened the door, she turned around a posed a question that had been bugging her for a while. "Erik, why do you wear that mask?" Her hand moved towards it, overcome by curiosity, but she pulled it back. It wasn't her place to remove his mask.

He had put a hand up to stop her hand before she had pulled back. "All in good time, just like everything else, Mademoiselle."

"Yes, but is it just for a mysterious effect? Are a fugitive? Do you just find it comfort-"

"All in good time."

She tilted her head in slight confusion, then shrugged. "Alright. If you really don't want me to know right now, I won't press."

"I appreciate it."

She looked at him one more time, before exiting the room with him. They both entered separate doors, both consumed by their own thoughts. Desiree's consisted of being increasingly confused about this phantom's mystery, frightening sense of humor, and apparent love of music. Erik was simply trying to finish his plan for this young lady who had stumbled into his life in the most unruly way possible, and who was, in fact, starting to grow on him.


	3. Phantom of the Opera II: And The Phantom...

Stories about the Phantom of the Opera still circulated throughout the Opera House, though it had been a few years since he or any sign of him had last been seen. Old stagehands and others who worked there told the tales, some true, some not.

This particular evening, the evening Faust would be performed, one such other happened to be telling one such story to a group of the young dancers, and several younger who were children of other employees.

"The phantom wears all black, and a white mask. He has black hair and a black cloak slung over one shoulder, and there is no noise when he walks. He can appear and disappear just as quickly as you could turn your head. And people who've seen his face say-"

"I've seen a man like that."

A little girl, whom it had seemed was too busy playing with her doll to pay attention to the story, had spoken, though she was still holding it's hands and making it dance to an opera melody she was humming.

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" There was no doubt in his mind that she had simply seen a man dressed in black, as many men did, with black hair, who was there to see the opera playing today, but he was curious as to what she had to say.

The little girl nodded, twirling the doll, and answered. "Yes. I saw him walking through the crowd earlier. But I didn't see him very long. I just remember that his cape was big and scary. He had a lady with him. She was wearing a black dress, and she had a black cape, too."

The old man shook his head. That was obviously not the Phantom. The Phantom didn't wander around with women. The girl was clearly making it up to get attention. He went back to his story, and she didn't speak again throughout the whole thing.

•

Desiree and Erik made their way through the crowd, on their way to Box Five. Desiree kept looking over her shoulder. Most of the people ignored the two figures, one male, and one female, dressed in black with flowing cloaks and white masks. She raised her to touch hers again. The mask covered her eyes. It was terribly and surprisingly comfortable. Erik had given it to her before they went, claiming that it would hide her identity from any authority who had seen her duck into the Opera House and were searching for her. It was so perfectly shaped to fit the sides of her face next to her eyes, the bride of her nose, and her eyebrows, and so flexible that it moved with her eyebrows and didn't smother her expressions at all. He hadn't had a reason for having her wear the cape, but it too was comfortable, and she didn't have a reason not to wear it, and so she had.

Now they entered Box Five, and Erik shut the door behind them. "If you don't mind," he said, "I think we should only stay here for part of Faust. I have something I want to do just after intermission. But don't worry, we won't miss any of it."

She blinked. "What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry! Just do what I tell you to do, and all will go well. It will only take a moment, anyway."

She looked at him suspiciously before cautiously sitting in a seat next to him. "Alright…"

The opera started, and she forgot about Erik's plan for after intermission. She was amazed at the incredible vocal abilities of the singers. Her feelings must have shown, even with her face masked, because she heard Erik whisper in her ear, "You could be that good if you were to let me teach you."

She turned to look at him. "I don't think so."

He smiled. "Oh, I know so. Stop talking, pay attention to what's going on."

She was about to point out that he was the first one to speak, but he put one finger in front of her mouth and pointed back to the stage. She returned her focus to the opera, and, for the time being, forgot that statement as well.

Finally, intermission came, and Erik stood up and stretched. "Let's go, we want to come in on cue."

A questioning look came over her face as she stood up. "I thought you had something to do…"

"I do. And I need your help with it. Now come on, we don't have as long as I'd like."

He gripped her hand and pulled her out of the box and through the crowds. He could've gotten backstage in a matter of minutes, but he was the trapdoor lover, and she wasn't. They finally got backstage, and they hid behind a curtain. Singers, dancers, and extras were everywhere, and they couldn't be seen.

•

The opera started again, and Desiree watched it from her spot behind a curtain. "I thought you said we wouldn't miss-"

He covered her mouth gently with his hand. "You're not missing it. Now, you and are going to climb up that ladder-" he pointed to a ladder on the other side of backstage area- "Across the catwalk-" he pointed upwards along the catwalk where lights were controlled- "Don't worry, at the point that we're up there, the hands controlling lighting won't be there. Then, you and I are going to jump down onto the stage, behind the singing and dancing that's going on. I'll carry you and set you down once I've landed."

She stared at him. He was insane. She pulled her head back away from his hand. "_What?_ That's insane! There's not even a point! Why on earth would we-"

He covered her mouth again and sighed. "Trust me. And be quiet." He led her over the ladder, which several people had just come down, and let her go up first. "And don't panic when the lights go out, no matter what, alright?" She looked down at him as if he were insane once again and nodded, then waited for him at the top of the catwalk.

They walked out along the catwalk until they were above the middle of the stage. He looked at her. "And don't look so confused. Look calm. Like you know what's going on. Relax your eyelids, raise your eyebrows a little, and smile with one corner of your mouth. Lift your chin just a little. Okay, good. Do that when we're down there."

"Erik, what's the point of-"

He picked her up, one arm around her back and gripping one of her shoulders, and the other around her legs, wrapping around the insides of her knees, and leapt off the catwalk. He landed in a crouching position with no sound whatsoever, set her down, and stood up quickly. He looked around in a superior, almost threatening manner, and she looked out at the audience with a similar expression.

Chaos ensued.

•

The little girl jumped up and down and pointed at the stage. "There! There! You see them! You see the man and the lady! That is who I saw! I told you! I told you I saw them and there they are!"

The old man stared at the stage, then walked away, rather like a cat whose ear had just been blown in.

•

Singers jumped away from the two and the audience erupted into the shouts and gasps and whispers and exclamations. Erik took two steps toward the front of the stage and the lights went out. Desiree dropped her serenely superior face and froze, looking franticly for Erik. She backed against the scenery to avoid be trampled. Suddenly, she saw two bright red lights in front of her face, like burning coals, and before she could scream, a hand covered her mouth again, and Erik's sweet, smooth, addictive tenor voice whispered hastily.

"It's me, don't worry, everything's under control. Just stay with me. I'm going to keep my hand over your mouth to stop you from asking questions for now. Just wait till we get back to the box."

She made a shocked, squeaking sound and stared at the coals, and followed him as best she could without stumbling. She heard shouts of, "Get those lights back on!" and "Everyone stop running!" and then Erik cursing under his breath.

"Try to walk faster if you can. We can't be seen."

She did her best to speed up. After an eternity of confusion, they reached the box, and he released her after shutting the door.

"_What_ was the _point_ of _that_?"

He smiled and pointed at the stage, where they'd finally gotten lights back on. One of the directors walked out onto the stage and spoke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe we have just witnessed the return of the Phantom of the Opera- and the Phantomess."


	4. Phantom of the Opera II: And The Phantom...

The opera had not been finished, and Erik and Desiree were now back at his house. Desiree had not said anything on the way there or even since the director's words onstage. She had remained silent, as if what had happened had not quite registered in her mind.

Desiree was sitting on the sofa she'd woken up on the night before, and Erik was seated on the couch opposite her, waiting for her reaction, smiling slightly. It took a while for her to say something.

"…I didn't even get to see the end of Faust."

Erik burst out laughing, this being the last reaction he expected. She blinked at him.

"Was he referring to me when he said 'the Phantomess'?" she asked, still in some state of shock. Erik regained composure fairly quickly and nodded, still shaking with withheld laughter. She thought for another minute. "But I'm not a phantom…ess."

"You could be."

"What do you mean, _I could be_? Like I can just _become_ a phantom-like being or something? Like it's a taught trade, and not a… thing that they're born with? Or created with… or however phantoms come into existence." She seemed to be recovering fairly well and very quickly.

"Of course it's a trade."

"It can't be!"

"You don't know that. You don't know how phantoms become phantoms, so who are you to say that it's not a trade?"

"But… but don't phantoms live forever?"

"They can."

"All of them?"

Erik sighed. "You ask too many questions. Why don't you just accept something on faith? You could be a phantom."

"The becoming of phantoms is definitely and odd thing to ask me to have faith in. Was that your plan? Your reason for bringing me here? To make me a phantom?"

"Actually, I have no idea why I brought you here. I'm just a nice guy, I guess. I didn't like the idea of leaving an innocent girl to freeze to death in the Paris Opera House subbasements." He smiled a little.

She looked straight ahead again, thinking. He couldn't have intended for her to become "The Phantomess." That had been the director's title for her, not his. But why had this stranger invited her to stay with him. Surely he had some idea of what he was doing? It almost seemed that by accepting his offer, she'd gone out of the frying pan into the fire. But had she really? Anything had to be better than… the necklace. Even phantomhood. She was already into it up to her neck, and she was ready to submerge herself completely in it. She looked at him and narrowed her eyes in thought, twisting her mouth to the side and pursing her lips.

"You say I could be a phantom?"

She took a deep breath. "And how would that be accomplished?"

"I'd coach you in phantomism as well as singing. You already have the whole look. Can you imagine what you looked like when we jumped off that catwalk, with that cloak trailing behind you?"

She twisted her mouth again and looked to the side. Her eyebrows lowered and her nose wrinkled slightly. "A phantomess, huh?"

He smiled and nodded. "A phantomess. You'd make a very good one."

She stood up. "I'm going to bed, if it's alright. I have a lot to think on."

"Of course. Rêves agréables, Mademoiselle."

"Merci, Monsieur. Rêves agréables."

She went to her room, set the mask on the vanity and draped the cloak over one side of the mirror. Her hair fell down over her shoulders. The black dress fell to the floor and she hurriedly slipped into a night gown. She laid the dress over the back of the vanity's chair and looked into the one half of the mirror that was not covered by the cloak. A dark-haired, hazel-eyed, fair-complexioned young girl gazed back at her. Her head tilted barely, but just so finely that the light hit her eyes perfectly, making them explode in a dazzling burst of awe-inspiring, emerald fireworks. Those beautiful eyes gazed out from behind the band of white that was her mask. Dark, brown hair framed her face and spilled over her shoulders. The corners of her mouth twitched upward momentarily, before her lips curled into a grin.

She finally put out the gas lamps and crawled into bed, collapsing backwards on the pillows with a groan. One hand laid over her eyes in exhaustion. She had lain there like that for several minutes before she jerked upright with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. It had occurred to her in those quiet minutes of her deep thought that something had been deeply wrong about that reflection. She had tilted her head, she had not smiled, and nor had she been wearing that mask.


	5. Phantom of the Opera II: And The Phantom...

Desiree had finally fallen asleep that night after much tossing and turning. The first thing she did when she woke up was look at the mirror. Her reflection was accurate this time. Perhaps she had just been tired last night. Yes, of course that was it. A lot had happened and she was just stressed. She washed her hands and face in the clean water in the basin on the vanity. The black dress and the cape were lying on the chair, folded and seemingly clean, rather than draped over the back of the chair and mirror. She picked up the dress and looked at it. It looked as clean as it had before she'd worn it the night before. Erik was going through a lot of trouble to make her feel comfortable and supply her with what she needed. She'd have to thank him later. She changed quickly. The brush ran through her thick, dark brown hair, and she kept a very close eye on her reflection with its every stroke.

She left, looking back at the mirror over her shoulder. The reflection was normal. Still, she frowned. It didn't frown back. Her eyes widened, while it's stayed the same, like it was stuck on the past expression. She walked back to the mirror fearfully and tapped it. The reflection didn't move. Desiree whirled quickly and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, quite out of breath.

She walked into the only other room in the house that she knew. Erik was already there, sitting on a sofa and eating. She sat across from him, lowering herself slowly and shakily onto the other sofa.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he said. He looked at her. "Are you alright? You look a little shaken."

"Oh, no, I'm fine. But out of curiosity, is there something wrong with that mirror in my room?"

He looked up suddenly from his drink. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

She shrugged. "I just mean… sometimes it doesn't exactly reflect what it should reflect."

"That's not possible, Mademoiselle. Mirrors only reflect what exists, different views depending upon the angle you are looking at it from."

"Right… right, of course, that's what a mirror does. It was late last night, and I was tired. It was a trick of the light, of course… and this morning, I was just in shock after last night and… imagining things."

He nodded and smiled. "Feel free to eat something, there's food on the table next to you."

She looked over at it and noticed what she hadn't before. "You do an awful lot here…" She picked up a piece of toast and took a bite out of it.

He smiled. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see the end of Faust last night. How was the part you saw?"

"I'm not too distressed that I didn't see the ending. I was more interested in the vocal abilities of the singers than the plot." She finished the toast, and then seemed to be thinking about something. He watched her. She finally spoke. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong with that mirror?"

He raised an eyebrow. This could be seen because the mask he wore was made of the same flexible material as hers, and fit just as perfectly. "I told, mirrors reflect only what is real. You were seeing things last night, and you were just tired and jumpy this morning. I assure you, the mirror is in perfect working condition." He smiled a little. "Perhaps Mademoiselle Phantomess is still suffering from an advanced state of shock and is seeing things?"

"I'm not seeing things- I mean, I am seeing things, but I'm not imagining them. They're there, they just don't exist, it- um… 'Mademoiselle Phantomess?'"

He ignored the question. "They're there, they just don't exist?" he said with a small smile.

"Yes, they're- er… well…" she sighed, and he chuckled.

"Clear as mud, Mademoiselle. Now, getting off the subject of that mirror, I want to work more on that song from Othello today. You're doing really very well with it; I think we could perfect it by tonight if you worked on it all day today."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's a very difficult song, Monsieur; I think the word 'perfect' may be a little strong."

He smiled. "We'll come very close to it then. Your voice is pretty enough that any small mistakes with hardly go noticed."

"Noticed by whom?"

"By me, obviously. Who else would there be to notice them?"

She twisted her mouth to the side. "That's what I'd like to know."

He laughed. "No one, Mademoiselle." He stood up. "If you can entertain yourself in your room for about an hour, I would be much obliged if you would meet me back in here at the end of that hour."

She stood up as well. "Alright. Thank you for breakfast, Monsieur, and for the clean dress." She headed for the door, Erik slightly behind her, and, like not-so-long-ago, they both went their separate ways. Upon entering her room, Desiree flung her cloak over the mirror. She turned toward the bed, and something on top of the wardrobe. She paused and looked at it. On top of the wardrobe set a wooden clock, identical to the one in the main room. It, like that clock, seemed to be working. What was up with this room? It was now occupied by an empty coffin, a living mirror, a magically materializing clock, and a fugitive prostitute.

•

An hour later, Desiree was inspecting the clock on the mantelpiece in the main room when Erik came in. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Phantomess," he said.

"Not yet I'm not. Are we going to practice?"

He smiled. "Follow me. I'd like to use the organ today instead of humming." He lead her by the hand out the door and back down the hall. In a similar fashion to how he had unlocked her door her first night there, he withdrew a small key from the inside of his cloak and unlocked the door now before them, and in they went.

This room was so poorly lit, that even after staying in the darkness of the rest of his house, it took a while for her eyes to adjust, and even then all she could make out was a small staircase leading up to a gigantic organ and the shape of something against one wall. She peered closely at it and narrowed her eyes. A… coffin? Another one? She blinked and looked toward the organ, where Erik was now seated. He motioned to her to come stand beside him. She did so, and without another word, he started playing the song. The organ playing sounded almost as good as his humming. Not to demote his playing, but no organ's music could match even his humming, even if he were playing it. His voice was that good.

After countless hours of singing (she had not seen a clock anywhere in the room), he stopped playing the organ again. "Let's play a prank on the opera."

Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. "A… _prank_? _A prank_?! What did we do last night? _That wasn't a prank_?"

He grinned. "Oh, that was merely and introduction, the result of merciless and unbridled boredom. No, what I had in mind was- well, you see, they're playing Othello tomorrow. You know this song very well, and any mistakes made will not be noticed. Your voice, as I have said before, is quite astounding, and they'll be in such a state of shock that the Phantomess of the Opera has walked out onto the stage and sang a song as if it were her own part, that they won't notice-"

"Wait, wait, wait- what? 'The Phantomess of the Opera walked out onto the stage and sang a song as if…' You're not possibly suggesting that I just waltz out onto the stage, sing this song, and then waltz right back off?"

"Well of course not. I wouldn't dream of you waltzing. You'll drop down off the catwalk as an entrance, and drop down a trapdoor as an exit- an exit that will be made in just a few seconds' time in which I will get rid of the lights and shove the real singer onto stage to take her place back."

"_Are you insane_?" she hissed.

He grinned. "Perhaps. But it would be entertaining, don't you think?"

She groaned, but couldn't repress a small smile. She rubbed her face in her hands. "You're… insane…"

He grinned. "So you'll do it?"

She looked at him with one eye between two fingers. She was in way over her head into the Phantomess thing. There was no reason not to do this. So what if the idea was lunacy? It would be entertaining. "Yes, I'll do it."

He smiled. "Good."

•

About an hour later, Desiree was laying on her bed, one arm over her eyes, thinking about the decision she'd made. She had practically just signed a contracted declaring herself the Opera House Ghostess. She finally sighed and sat up. So her knew life was haunting the Paris Opera House. She looked around the room. The mask sitting on the vanity, the coffin at the foot of the bed, the clock atop the wardrobe, the cloak lying on the ground… was not supposed to be there. She'd draped it over the mirror. What was it doing on the floor?

She jumped up grabbed the cloak, then flung it hastily over the mirror. It slid off onto the floor. She grabbed it and draped it a little more carefully this time. It fell to the ground. She snatched it one last time, and then slowly laid it over the mirror. It stayed all of two seconds before it slid, once again, to the floor. She stared at the mirror. It stared back.

She blinked, and behind her reflection self stood a reflection Erik. She whirled around. He wasn't there. She looked back at the mirror over her shoulder. Reflection Erik was gone as well, and her reflection self seemed to be just as shocked as she was.

She spent the next hour pulling and pushing the wardrobe to stand between the vanity and her bed.


End file.
